An Aussie Alkies Recovery Story
My Sobriety Journey
Sober Date: 11th of April, 1977
By Gordy (also known as ‘11step Gordon’)
G’day all,
My name is Gordy. I’m an Aussie alcoholic to the ‘enth degree. Around here, they know me as “11step Gordon.” I’d like to share a bit of my recovery journey, thanks to this amazing Fellowship and the generous wisdom of my loving Higher Power—whom I call God.
I believe I was born an alcoholic. From the start, I carried all the traits: deep fears, poor communication skills, and a strong sense of not being good enough. I always felt like I didn’t belong. Looking back, I was a lost soul—emotionally overwhelmed and spiritually empty. A helpless, chronic alcoholic in the making.
The day booze entered my life, everything changed. It felt like a miracle cure—the magic potion that would fix me. I had my first drink (unsupervised) in 1962 when I was 14 years and 9 months old. I’d just signed on as a deck boy aboard the old steamship SS Iron Monarch, a World War II iron ore vessel. She traded out of Melbourne, and that’s where my drinking career truly began.
Two weeks later, we docked in Newcastle. I went ashore with my shipmates. That night, in the front bar of the Seven Seas Hotel in Carrington, I had my first blackout—and woke up in the back seat of a car. Two strangers were with me. One was driving; the other was going through my pockets.
I panicked, lashed out, and got badly beaten. I remember vomiting on the guy who was hitting me—probably because I was so drunk and scared. Then he opened the door while the car was still moving and threw me out. I landed hard on the road, covered in cuts and bruises.
Now, most people would think an experience like that would stop someone from drinking ever again. But for me, that was just the beginning. That night was my initiation into a long, painful alcoholic career that would last 15 more years.
I stayed at sea for 12 years. Most of us in the maritime game knew that alcohol was everywhere. I reckon 60–75% of sailors had a problem with the grog. It was accepted. It was normal.
I drank more and more, and things got worse. Much worse.
I married in 1966 and dragged my poor wife through hell for 11 long years. My drinking led to hospital stays, jail time, street violence, shame, and chaos. I didn’t know any different. Drinking gave me a short escape from my misery, so I chased it hard.
If you called me an alcoholic back then, I would’ve punched you in the nose. I truly believed it was normal to go for “a few drinks.” But the truth is, I could never have just a few. When I drank, I drank for complete wipeout. Oblivion.
My life was like an aircraft spiraling down at full speed—about to crash into the earth. I was totally addicted, in denial, and on a fast track to destruction.
To me, an alcoholic was someone sleeping in a back alley, drinking metho and wrapped in blankets. That wasn’t me! I had a wife, four kids, and a house. So, I told myself I couldn’t possibly be an alcoholic. But I was dead wrong.
My wife, bless her, kept the door open for me. Time and again, I’d crawl back, suffer through the hangovers, and start again. She was devoted, patient, and incredibly strong.
But finally, my alcoholism caught up with me. Around August 1976, I hit a wall.
I was back in the Port Adelaide lock-up—again. I was waking up to the sound of dripping urinals and the noise of semi-trailers passing by. I muttered to myself, “Why the hell am I back in this filthy place?”
Something inside me cracked.
Not long after, I had a moment that I believe was arranged by God. I went to pick up my father-in-law from Archway Rehab, and when I rang the doorbell, I was shocked. A mate I hadn’t seen in years answered the door—clean-shaven, neat, and sober. The last time I saw him, he was living under sheets of iron, drinking metho.
He said, “I’m on the wagon. I go to AA.”
That stuck in my mind.
I kept drinking for a few more months, but the seed was planted. Then, Easter 1977 came, and I had a massive blow-up. More violence. More pain. I lay in bed for days, recovering.
Then I said to my wife, “Maybe I’ll check out one of those AA meetings—just to see what it does for my mate.”
My wife immediately contacted him, and he showed up. “Want to go to a meeting tonight?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “but I’ll come to the Sunday night one at the Detox Centre.”
That was the first important commitment I had made in years—and I followed through.
I walked into that AA meeting shaking like a leaf. I didn’t know what to expect. But the welcome I got was like nothing I’d ever experienced. No one wanted anything from me. They were just glad I was there.
A cheerful lady called Just Judy came up and offered kind words. Her husband, Joey Green, was a Scottish docker. Both of them had voices that could rattle the rafters—but they were full of warmth and sincerity. Judy asked, “Can you pick me up for a meeting tomorrow night?” I had no idea I’d be driving her to meetings for the next 18½ years.
Judy became one of the most honest, humble, and inspiring people I ever met in AA. She shared from the heart—no shame, no filters. Her example showed me what real recovery looked like.
From that first meeting, I haven’t needed to drink—one day at a time. AA gave me everything I needed: faith, hope, friendship, purpose, and above all—a relationship with a loving God.
It took me four years to sort out my bankruptcies. I dealt with the law—eight debt warrants, five criminal charges. I made amends. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.
Meetings became my medicine. The Fellowship became my family. The love, the laughter, the honesty—it overwhelmed me. I don’t understand it, and I don’t need to. I just know it works.
I only have to do a few simple things:
Don’t pick up.
Go to meetings.
And carry the message whenever I can.
Not as some superstar speaker, but just as a bloke with a story and a heart willing to help.
In August 1981, I had a profound spiritual awakening while praying at my dying father-in-law’s bedside. I asked God to ease his pain and take his soul. In that moment, I felt something powerful. A divine touch I cannot explain. I knew in my heart that God is real and that He’s there for all who reach out to Him.
These days, I no longer think I’m some chessboard king or knight. I’m just a humble pawn—a messenger, a link in this incredible chain of recovery.
Today, I know why I’m here:
To carry the message of experience, strength, and hope.
That’s enough for me. That’s what I was looking for all along. Inner peace. Acceptance. Love.
And thanks to AA, I’ve found it.
I want to thank every one of you for saving my life. You revived a broken man. For that, I love you and salute you—in the name of this spiritual Fellowship.
P.S. The Eleventh Step is the key to everything in my life. When I get lost or confused, I return to Step 11. It grounds me. It guides me. It connects me to God.
With love,
Gordy
Sober since April 11, 1977
“The Eleventh Step is the key to living your life spiritually.”
